by Jason Rose
“This isn’t the time or place for that discussion,” says Prestegard dismissively, while turning his nose up and sighing as if he were dismissing a fantastic request from a spoiled child.
“When and where is? I want to make sure I show up at that meeting.”
“Tell us how he died.” demands Judge Prestegard, ignoring my pressing, hints of irritation creeping into his voice.
“How about I show you? May my associate enter the well to set up a projection screen? I have a video of a news reporter from this morning that I’d like to play for the Court.”
Prestegard waves his hand in the air dismissively; the hand signal rich pricks give when they want you to just hurry up and do whatever you need to do so they can stop sharing air with you. I nod to Joycee, and she enters the well and starts setting up a collapsible screen. When she’s done, she hands me a remote, “Just hit play. And when you're done, hit stop.”
I nod and smile. “Thank you.” Joycee returns the smile, and then exits the well and takes Wilson’s front row seat.
During the dramatic reveal, while everyone was focused on Adrian, Wilson quietly moved and took a defensive position with his back up against the wall on the right side of the courtroom. Eliminating the angles from which enemies can attack you is basic military training, survival 101. He is far enough to give him time to retrieve a weapon and get a few rounds off before he’s engaged and near enough that he can intervene and defend Joycee if things come to that. Before we stepped through the gate this morning, I made him promise that Joycee would be his first concern if things go fubar. I couldn’t live with myself if I allowed her, or any of my team, to get hurt because of risks I took.
I still don’t know what Wilson did in the military; I’m starting to think special forces, maybe secret hush-hush off-book black ops? Whatever it was, his training is proving invaluable to my survival. Wilson has an unzipped backpack on the floor in front of him, positioned for easy accessibility, which I’m sure is filled with goodies, things I probably wish he hadn’t brought, but if things go rotten, things I’ll probably be thankful he did.
I take one last glance at the courtroom gallery; every pair of eyes is focused on me, waiting for me to hit play on the video. The attention of this many non-humans is unnerving. Something about it causes a primal chill to sprint through my body, I’m starting to wish I’d broughten the sword Soul-Eater. After the conversation with Whanung, and until I learn more about it, I decided that it’s not a prudent idea to wear it in public anymore. My team and I already have enough forces aligned against us; I have no desire to make more enemies. Instead of the sword, I strapped the pugio to my hip, the ancient Roman dagger I inherited from Pavo, the one I killed him with. Wilson wanted me to wear a modified Kalashnikov, loaded with silver-tipped bullets. At the time, I thought that was a little more aggressive a look than I wanted to project. I’m starting to wish I’d listened to him. I point the remote at the projector and press the oval-shaped play button.
A news anchor, the same pretty woman of indeterminable age and ethnicity from the earlier clip I saw, this time wearing a smart black pantsuit, is standing in front of a barbed-wire fence, outside of a prison. There is a guard tower in the background of the shot and she is addressing the camera:
Guards shot and killed an inmate late last night during an attempted escape. Eirik Varulv, the man called the Pittsfield Butcher, had been missing from his cell for nearly two days. He was armed and fired at least one shot at the guards stationed in the guard tower you can see behind me. No guards were injured. Prison officials had believed he had escaped the prison, and the FBI was here leading a manhunt to recapture him. Prison officials now believe Eirik Varulv escaped his cell and was hiding on the prison grounds, never making it outside of the actual prison until last night. They suspect he was hiding in the ventilation ducts or in an equipment room. Last night, he climbed over this barbed-wire fence, fired a shot at the guards, and was then shot and killed in this cleared area here, near where I am standing, while trying to flee into the woods.
A picture of Eirik Varulv fills the screen.
Eirik Varulv pled guilty earlier this year to the murder of nine people, including his own granddaughter, in a Pittsfield Hotel. He was sentenced to life in prison.
A picture of Adrian Varulv and a little girl fill the screen, presumably his daughter.
Eirik Varul is survived by his son, Adrian Varulv, a wealthy businessman.
Adrian is grimacing. There is a look of anguish on his face. Seeing the picture of his daughter is wrecking him. I can’t help but feel some sympathy for him. I can’t imagine what losing a child might do to someone.
Prison officials are still investigating exactly how the escape happened and whether the Pittsfield Butcher had any help, either from inside or outside the prison. Prison officials cannot explain how he got his hands on a gun. My sources are telling me the escape has prison officials baffled. I did speak with the warden briefly. He wanted me to be sure and communicate that, although the prisoner temporarily escaped from his cell, the guards here did their job and prevented his escape from the grounds. For now, the public is safe and the manhunt is called off. Stayed tuned to Channel 4 for updates on this harrowing escape attempt.
The shot cuts to a studio where two anchors, one male and one female, are seated at a large news desk in front of a giant Channel 4 sign hung over wood paneling.
The male anchor says, “We will, thank—"
I press stop on the remote. The room is noiseless, not even the sound of breathing can be heard. Before anyone else can penetrate the stillness and dissipate the shock of learning that Eirik Varulv is dead, I urge the Court to dismiss the charges. “In light of the unfortunate circumstances we now find ourselves in, I move for a dismissal of all charges against Eirik Varulv. Due process, a citizen’s right to defend himself against the charges lobbied against him, demands that a dismissal be granted.” The Concordat has a bill of rights, which grants all of its citizens certain inalienable rights. Parts of the United States Constitution were patterned after the Concordat bill of right. The rights to due process, to face one’s accusers and to receive fair treatment from the judicial system, are fundamental rights that transcend cultures and species. At least they should.
The judges remain stunned, even Prestegard. A gabble builds in the gallery. Makki swallows and then seems to regain her footing. She steps forward, straightens her back, puffs out her enormous chest, and then, in a clear and commanding voice echoing through the chamber, says, “Judges, nothing has changed. Due process has already been afforded to Eirik Varulv. In his case, in the Human court, he had every opportunity to defend himself. And he knowingly waived that opportunity, pled guilty, and was convicted of killing his granddaughter, a citizen. We find ourselves in no different a position today than we were on Wednesday. I again urge this Court to apply res judicata to the human court’s ruling and find Eirik Varulv guilty of the murder of a citizen.”
Judge Saleena asks, “Why? If Eirik Varulv is dead, what difference does it make if he’s found guilty in our court? Hasn’t justice has already been served?”
“No. It hasn’t,” replies Makki, gaining verbal momentum, resulting in a louder and clearer voice. Some lawyers are like that, they need to be challenged to hit their peak stride. “Concordat law is a manifestation of the will of its citizens. This Court’s duty, your burden, my Lords, is to be the voice of that will. Eirik Varulv murdered his granddaughter. One of us. A citizen. She deserved justice. She has a right to expect justice. All citizens do. This Court, not a lowly human court, speaks the will and pronounces the judgement of Concordat citizens. This Court must hold Eirik Varulv accountable. This Court must speak for his victim and for all citizens. While this Court can no longer punish Eirik Varulv for his crimebecause that right to retribution has been denied it, this Court can still disavow the despicable conduct of Eirik Varulv. It can find him guilty and send a message to all would-be murderers and their victims that the law ma
tters. Citizens matter.”
Judge Saleena nods; she seems to accept the reasoning.
Judge Prestegard raises his hand and yells, “I have heard enough, I’ve reviewed the prior cases in this court where res judicata has been applied, and I am satisfied it is applicable to the facts of this case. I vote to apply res judicata to the human court’s ruling. And to find under our law, under Concordat law, that Eirik Varulv is guilty of the unjustified murder of a citizen. My fellow Lords, how do you vote?”
Judge Tavar raises his hand, indicating a vote of agreement with Prestegard, which means Judge Saleena’s vote is immaterial, majority rules in this court. The vote need not be unanimous. Before Tavar can speak—his vote must be verbally recorded—I interrupt the proceeding, “Judges, wait. Don’t I get an opportunity to be heard before the Court makes its ruling?”
“Of course, Advocate Valentine” answers Judge Saleena. “I believe my colleague thought you were finished.”
Saleena looks over at Judge Prestegard whose lips briefly flair into a snarl, and then the upper-crust breeding takes over and he says with his typical aristocratic blase′ faire snark, “Yes, yes, if you have something further to say, by all means, Mr. Valentine, dazzle us.”
Despite her interventions and seemingly helpful question to Makki, I am not convinced Judge Saleena is actually on my side. Makki’s response to that momentum sparking question seemed rehearsed like she was anticipating it. That could just be me underestimating Makki’s skill, but my intuition is telling me all three judges are aligned against me. I think it’s most likely that Judge Saleena is acting like the adult in the conspiracy and projecting a picture of objectivity and fairness for the benefit of the other Advocates and citizens observing the proceeding, as opposed to actually championing my case. The best cheat, or the worst, depending on your perspective, is the one who screws you, all the while appearing to have your best interest at heart.
“Advocate Makki, are we in agreement that every citizen has a right to due process?” I ask. Typically, judges don’t like it when during argument you address your opponent as opposed to the court itself. In this instance, I’m hoping they think Makki is way out ahead and they, therefore, give me a little latitude. Everything about optics. They wouldn’t want to appear any more biased than they absolutely have to.
“Certainly,” responds Makki with no hesitation whatsoever. “And your client received it. The Human court gave Eirik Varulv his due process in his human case.” Some attorneys will try and run from any admission; here there really isn’t any room to run. The concession I’m seeking is so fundamental that running from it would make her look weak. Makki did the only thing she could reasonably do; she fearlessly embraced the principle and then tried to show how it was satisfied here.
“Are we also in agreement that any due process Eirik Varulv may have received came only from the human court, and not this Court? Eirik Varulv didn’t get a full trial in this Court. He never got to put on a defense or testify. In other words, do you agree that the only reason, you, yourself, as an Advocate sworn to uphold Concordat law, aren’t joining in my motion for dismissal, is because of Eirik’s murder conviction in human court?”
Makki pauses, she chews on her lip again, her nose twitches ever so slightly, and I can tell she sniffs a trap, but she can’t see it. And unless she’s an avid American football fan, and since she’s a Canadian, I doubt it; or well versed in esoteric Massachusetts laws, also doubtful, she has no idea what she’s even looking for. The only reason I remembered this obscure law that might end up saving the day is because of a comment Wilson made when we visited the prison. I’m not going to admit that to him, though. He’d never let me forget it. Maybe I’ll give him a bonus, a small one, if this actually works. Enough for a down payment on his electric sports car if that’s what he really wants. Considering everything he does for me, he’s worth it. Sure, if I hadn’t remembered the law myself, Whanung would have told me about it, but I’m not letting that manipulator take any credit. I know Sinn says we can trust him; I’m not trusting anybody outside of my team. Trust is how you get hurt. It’s how you get your friends hurt.
Finally, Makki answers, “Yes, I agree that Eirik Varulv was given due process by the human court.” She gives a half-measured admission.
“And that he didn’t get due process in this Court?” I press, knowing I’m probably not going to get a clearer admission.
“I already answered you,” snaps Makki.
I consider and reject, pressing one more time before asking the question that will connect all the dots. I don’t think Makki is going to give me any more than she’s already given. “If there was no Human conviction, this case would have to be dismissed. Correct?”
Makki freezes and then grins like a starved circus lion who just captured a mouse. A blind mouse who had, while looking for a bit of food, unwarily followed its nose right into the lion’s cage. “Advocate Valentine, that appeal you filed yesterday isn’t going to save your client. Oh, you didn’t think I knew about that? I have copies of it here for the Court to review. It’s a complete work of fiction. There is no chance that a human court of appeals will accept this garbage. This is obviously a weak attempt to delay the inevitable.”
“Advocate Valentine,” interjects Prestegard, “the Court gave you until today to present a defense. This Court will make a decision today based on what is most likely to occur. We are not going to delay. If someday, years down the road, a human court grants your client’s appeal, which is highly unlikely—I also read the appeal papers, and I also believe it is rubbish—then you can file a motion to have this verdict overturned.”
If I had any doubts, which I didn’t, those two were working together, they’d be long gone, halfway to Mexico by now. Makki and Prestegard are trying to create a situation where, even if we eventually win, it will be too late to save Adrian’s crown. This case isn’t about the truth; it’s a werewolf coup.
I lean over and whisper to Sinn, loud enough, so a vampire with super hearing just might be able to make it out from the judges’ bench, “I can’t believe you dated this aristocratic tool.”
Sinn purses her lips, which is on most people unattractive; on her, it’s downright sexy and with a closed mouth whispers, “Stop with the theatrics and get to the point.”
“As you wish.” I stand up as straight as I can and crack my neck, first to one side, then the other, releasing some of the tension that’s built up over the morning. God, I could use a massage. “Judge Prestegard, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I fully expect this Court to make a ruling today. I have no intention of seeking a delay. Is the Court familiar with the legal doctrine abatement ab initio?”
Advocate Makki tilts her head to the side and looks down at the floor in thought. All three Judges lean forward in their seats as if closing the distance between us will somehow dissipate the brain fog they are experiencing. Nobody speaks or acknowledges their unfamiliarity with the term. I didn’t really expect that they would; all the attorneys I know hate to admit they don’t know something. They think not knowing something, even something obscure, is a weakness. This knowledge-based insecurity is a character flaw that seems to be as equally common amongst Advocates as it is amongst human lawyers. “That’s okay, I hadn’t heard of it either, until a few years ago. It’s an uncommon doctrine, rarely applied, a bit controversial, but it’s the law in Massachusetts. Abatement ab initio is Latin, it means from the beginning. It’s the legal equivalent of a do-over without actually doing anything over. It’s applicable in the rare situation where someone is convicted of a crime, appeals the conviction, and then dies before the appeal can be resolved. Which sounds very familiar—sounds a lot like this case. One might say it is exactly this case.”
“Mr. Valentine,” Judge Tavar speaks for the first time. To say his voice does not match his body, would be the understatement of the decade. The voice projecting from his mouth is refined with a bit of a nasally accent. If I wasn’t starring at a naked, dark-
skinned, sharp tusked, jungle pigmy, wearing only strategically grown leaves that cover his unmentionables, I’d swear I was speaking with an old English friar. “What does the doctrine proscribe in such circumstances?”
“In such circumstances, the original conviction is, in the interest of justice, overturned. The reasoning is multifactorial, although it essentially boils down to the fact that due process concerns haven’t been fully satisfied if an appeal is pending, and terminating the appeal and underlying action conserves court resources. Abatement ab initio allows the court to quickly clear cases from its docket, like this one, which really have no further intrinsic value to society. Court resources can be better allocated to cases whose outcomes actually matter. You know humans—it’s always about the money.”
“I see,” responds Tavar. “Do you have proof that this is the Human’s law?”
“Yes, Judge. I printed copies of the appropriate authorities. The doctrine extends beyond Massachusetts to a few other jurisdictions. The United States Supreme Court has applied it twice. It was recently applied outside of Massachusetts in Federal court to overturn the conviction of a large energy company’s CEO after he died. The company didn’t want people it had injured to be able to read the ex CEO’s criminal convictions to juries in civil cases. May I hand copies of the relevant decisions forward?” Sinn hands me four manilla file folders. Each contained the legal research proving the existence of the abatement ab initio doctrine and explained its application. I hand one to Makki, who takes it and sets it on her desk as if it is the least important thing she’s had to deal with this morning. I wave the others at the bench. “May I approach?”